


Spanish Lullabies

by HeartOfTheMirror



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Adultery, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Drabble, F/M, Fantasizing, Fantasy, Season/Series 02, Treason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfTheMirror/pseuds/HeartOfTheMirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne tells Aramis what she dreams of when he isn't there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spanish Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed so feel free to point out any errors.

The last stretching fingers of the sinking evening sun caressed the Queen’s skin, turning her golden and resplendent. As she always was, in Aramis’s eyes.

She lay curled in his arms, her cream colored silk sheets wrapped around them from knee to waist. He could feel her soft fingers tracing patterns over his chest, sometimes following the lines of his scars and sometimes inventing her own pathways. Suddenly, fiercely, he wished her touch would leave a mark. Some tattoo or brand that he could carry with him always, tangible proof that she had once touched him, trusted him, loved him.

He said nothing. He couldn’t draw his eyes away from the curves and shows of her face. God, he had never known love like this. And he was a man who had known many loves.

“I have a fantasy,” she confessed to him softly. He could feel her lips move where her cheek rested on his chest, tucked in towards his heart. “It’s a silly daydream. It could never happen, I know that. But when I’m bored, or lonely, or…” She took a deep breath and sighed, stretching her arm around him and holding him as though he might be able to stay as long as she didn’t let go.

“Would you like to hear it? What it is? This thing I think of when I try to imagine happiness?” Her voice was mumbled in his skin but he never had a problem understanding her, even when they didn’t have the luxury of words. 

“Yes, very much,” Aramis whispered, caressing her shoulder with one hand and sliding the fingertips of his other one down the length of her gently curving spine. “Tell me.” 

“In this dream,” she began, her normal confidence still hiding shyly as she refused to look in his eyes. “You’re a minor noble lord somewhere in the countryside. We live in a modest house in a field of flowers with only one or two servants. Our son grows up, knowing his father’s name.” Her voice shakes a little. “He wants to be just like you. Dreams of being a soldier and worries me to pieces.” 

Aramis can’t stop the amused snort or the wry smile that image brings. He can feel his Queen grinning too. “We have more children. Some daughters with your eyes, some sons with my hair. I can never decide how many. When it’s time for bed we sing them Spanish lullabies. Then we retire to our rooms and make love every night with the windows open so we can smell the flowers on the sweet summer air.”

“Only at night?” Aramis asked. “Pray tell, my lady, how do I resist you during the day.”

“During the day our servants go to the market and our children go play in the village with their friends. With your Musketeers to guard and watch over them, of course,” she says.

“Naturally,” Aramis agrees. 

“Then, as soon as the dust has settled on the road leading away from our home you strip me and have your way with me on the dining room table.”

“Sounds delicious,” Aramis said, finding one of her hands and bringing it up to his mouth so he can nibble gently at her fingers. She presses a kiss to his chest in return. 

“Sometimes we’re so desperate we can stand it and you just hike up my skirts and-“ his breath hitches. He can tell by the way her body tenses that she’s getting excited. 

“What do I do to you, your majesty? What do I do once I’ve got your skirts hiked up around your hips?” His voice was a low growl in her ear.

“You love me,” she said, her voice wavering. “You and you alone get to have me. I am your Queen and no one else’s.” He wished that there was some remedy for the sadness in her voice.

“It’s a beautiful dream,” he told her gently. He didn’t bother saying what they both already knew- there was no future for them in this life, not really.

“Or sometimes,” she said, as though he hadn’t spoken. “I imagine that you had been King Henry’s son, instead of Louis. That I had come from Spain to marry you and you swept me up in your arms and told me there was no more beautiful or intelligent or beguiling Queen in all of Europe. You would make such an amazing King and I would be so proud to stand by your side. You would understand mercy and faith, and you would never scoff at my council.”

“Never,” Aramis said fervently. “But I would be a terrible king. I have no interest in politics or governance. I’m a soldier at heart.”

“You’re a lover at heart,” Anne contradicted teasingly. “And I’ve never known a King who truly had an interest in governance or politics. But you understand the game. You care about the people. You’re an intelligent, brave, loyal man. You would be the best king France had ever seen.”

“Only until our son took the throne,” he said, leaving her to believe whatever she wanted of his imaginary kingship. 

“Yes,” she said wistfully. “Many years from now when he a grown man who has had a full life free of the responsibilities and duties of the throne.” 

“A beautiful dream,” Aramis repeated. He would have given anything to make it real for her, for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are an author's lifeblood.


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